Cora (Virtue & Vice #4)

Chapter 13

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CORA

A moment later, Cora and Honey bustled out into the street with Titi trotting as fast as her paws would carry her.

“This way,” Honey took her elbow and led her not very subtly to the corner. “The countess bought two townhomes, if you can believe it, and had them combined. In Mayfair, no less! Can you imagine the expense?”

Cora had never really considered how much money that must have cost. “No. I am not that crass,” she said, then made a face. “I am beginning to sound like my mother-in-law.”

“How is she?” asked Honey distractedly.

It was on the tip of her tongue to say horrible , but the last thing she needed was a rumor of rancor being passed around the ton . Instead, she said, “Tolerable enough.”

“There is a carriage house in the back with a secret entryway,” Honey told her.

“It can’t be that secret if you found it.”

“Shh!” Honey gestured—again, with no subtlety whatsoever—at the boy standing watch at the corner.

“She pays them to shoo people along if they attempt to see over the garden wall,” Honey lowered her voice, and Cora had the fleeting hope that her friend had finally caught on to the concept of secrecy. It did not last. “I only know about it because the other day, I was out for a walk when I saw an archbishop going in through this door”—she pointed at a small, unassuming wrought-iron gate—“and I thought, that is very strange! Why wouldn’t he go to the front? This isn’t even the servant’s entrance. That one faces the alleyway.”

“What you are saying is that there are three entrances and exits to a double mansion,” Cora said dryly. “How remarkable.”

“That we know of!”

Two of the boys stationed at the corner of the garden pushed off the wall and began following them. Their glowers promised trouble if they lingered. Cora took Honey’s arm and dragged her across the street.

“Let’s go and pay the countess a visit, shall we?”

“No!” Honey squealed, half-scandalized, entirely thrilled. “Me? An unmarried lady?”

“I, however, am married. Furthermore, I believe my husband is on the premises. That means we have a chaperon.”

Honey’s eyes went so wide that Cora briefly feared they might pop right out of her skull.

“Could we? I have been ever so fascinated by the countess, but my parents loathe her. They won’t permit me to acknowledge her socially.”

Despite herself, Cora was intrigued by the idea that the countess was running a clandestine brothel smack in the middle of Mayfair. Dove Street was a coveted address. Her brother had loaned Lady Oreste the funds to renovate it, and they continued to have some kind of business arrangement. If Gideon was here, the most logical explanation was that his visit was related to the bank merger.

But if he was here to avail himself of Belladonna’s services…

She needed to know just how badly Gideon found her wanting.

* * *

Gideon

“Her ladyship is away,” the butler, Starke, informed him. There was something off about the man. He did not have the obsequious demeanor of a typical manservant of his status. Moreover, he was almost as tall as Gideon and even more muscular. He looked more like the bouncer in an underground fighting club.

“Still?”

The holidays were long over. March loomed, and while many aristocrats wouldn’t return to London until the spring Season began in earnest, those with business dealings to attend to usually returned soon after Twelfth Night marked the end of Christmas festivities.

“Still. Sir.”

The honorific was added belatedly.

“Who is managing the countess’ affairs in her absence?”

“Her son, Mr. Bristow.”

“Then I would like to speak with him.”

Starke’s brow pleated in consternation. “I am afraid that is not possible. He is presently dealing with…a situation.”

“What kind of situation, Starke?” Gideon barely concealed his annoyance. He needed the countess’ signature before the bank merger could be completed. Stupid paperwork that could have been handled by any lackey if not for the fact that this document spelled out the real nature of Countess Oreste’s House of Virtue.

He knew this, yet seeing it spelled out in black and white shocked him.

The rumors were true. It was a whorehouse. A very exclusive one. Men came here for the company. Ladies visited under the pretext that it was a house of reform. Some of them paid “donations” to support the home’s supposed work. Either they were genuinely moved to help women leave the profession, in which case Belladonna was running a deceptive scheme, or the ladies were looking the other way and paying her for silence. Likely a mix, in his estimation.

Undoubtedly, some women were happy to have an outlet for their husbands’ baser needs than attending to them personally. Was Cora one of them?

Not judging from the way her cheeks had flushed and the way she kissed him back, both at the wedding and later that evening. She was such a confusing mix of worldly and innocent. Rather than attempt to unravel the question of what the hell his wife had been doing during the years he’d left her alone, he’d waited for her to come to him.

But she hadn’t broken like he expected her to. Stubborn woman.

Today, no visitor would be fooled by Belladonna’s sham.

“She cannot keep taking my clients like this! You have to do something, Archie,” a woman fumed.

“Do what, Tulip? I can’t force men to use your services. They like doing what you do to them to Daisy.”

“They like me because I’m willing to get on my knees for them.” The second woman’s smug dulcet tone sharpened when she said, “I let them tie me up and spank my bottom raw, and for what? No extra pay? The twins don’t even use their cunts!”

Gideon blinked.

“You knew the terms when you signed on, Daisy.” A young man’s voice in a wearily reasonable tone added. “More to the point, you are not a prisoner here. If you don’t like how the House of Vice operates, then leave.”

The woman huffed. “Where the fuck would I go?”

“Language.”

“Fucking, fucking, fucking ! That’s all we do here. Suck cock and pretend to be virginal little fallen angels to the fancy women who think we’re actually trying to change our ways.” She huffed contemptuously. “They know we’re fucking their husbands.”

Starke sighed. Gideon bit back a smile.

“Impressive vocabulary,” he muttered. The servant winced.

“As you can see, this is not a good time.”

“If you want better working conditions, what you need is a worker’s union,” said a feminine, familiar voice behind him. Gideon’s stomach dropped as he whirled around to find his wife, gorgeous in a blue wool overcoat with frog clasps marching down her generous bosom, an outfit suitably militaristic.

Her green eyes met his and then slid cooly away.

“What are you doing here?” he demanded.

“I might ask you the same thing.”

“I am here on a business matter.”

“So am I,” Cora replied, lifting her chin. With her was a petite woman with brown-sugar curls pinned to her head. She held Titi, looking on with excitement shining in her huge amber eyes. Miss Honora Caldwell. She was prettier than he remembered. If not for her penchant for thoughtless gossip, she would have been married years ago.

Yet she was not the one he wanted to seize by the scruff of her neck and march right out of there. Unfortunately, the last thing he could afford to do was cause a scene, and judging from the way his wife was glaring at him, she was one provocation away from launching into a tirade fit to rival Daisy’s.

“Belladonna won’t appreciate your interference,” he warned, low in Cora’s ear.

“Can we at least come inside? Poor little Titi is shivering,” the shorter woman asked. “Aren’t you, darling?” She scratched the animal’s head and craned her neck, trying to peer into the halls of the House of Virtue. Considering she lived down the street, this was a transparent attempt to get inside. God help every man in the ton if she got wind of what this place truly was.

Fortunately, the countess was careful to present the interior of her home as what it purported to be—at least from this vantage. Nary a salacious statue or rude painting to be found. No indication of its true nature whatsoever.

Starke was onto Miss Caldwell’s aims. “You may sit in the front parlor while Mr. Wentworth has a word with Mr. Bristow. The twins, Iris and Ivy, will bring tea momentarily, ” he said.

Neither woman budged. Belladonna wouldn’t be happy to have her prying around. Now that Gideon knew the depth of the ties between the countess and Wilder & Co., he wasn’t happy, either.

“Cora. Go home.”

“What did you mean by clients?” Miss Caldwell asked. Cora elbowed her. She winced. “Ow.”

Good lord, the girl truly had no concept of subtlety. Gideon caught his wife’s arm and leaned in. “Honora Caldwell is the worst possible person you could have brought here. Get her out before she goes blabbing all over the ton.”

“Is this place really a brothel?” Cora whispered.

He nodded tightly.

“We shall discuss your presence here later,” Cora declared, yanking away and following the other women as Starke led them away.

“Indeed. You have explaining to do, yourself.”

“Me?” She whirled to glare at him. Miss Caldwell caught her arm and dragged her away.

“Mr. Wentworth?” a rather weary young man interrupted. He couldn’t be older than twenty, possibly younger. This was the person Countess Oreste, the ruthless widow who ruled London Society through secrets and sex, had left to manage her affairs during a prolonged absence?

Gideon struggled to conceal his astonishment.